


And So We Burned

by TheFitfulFire



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Everybody Lives, F/F, Femslash, Heartbreak, Jaws of Hakkon, Not Trespasser DLC Compliant, Romance, characters being dramatic, for because heartbreak, some light OCs, stubborn characters are stubborn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:09:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9564410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFitfulFire/pseuds/TheFitfulFire
Summary: "And so we burned. We raised nations, we waged wars,We dreamed up false gods, great demonsWho could cross the Veil into the waking world,Turned our devotion upon them, and forgot you."-Threnodies 1:8Cassandra made Hollen Adaar a promise. But even a lover's oath must bow to duty.





	1. All or Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> So, obviously some canon-related things are going to be either dismissed or ignored so that this fic makes sense. So I don't wanna hear any "Cassandra isn't gay" or "That's not how the Chantry Works" or "Why change Cassandra's role as Divine" bullshit. This is fic. We write fic BECAUSE of all the what ifs and why nots involved in being a fan. I have not finished plotting this, I have just this and the beginning of the second chapter written. So there will be no plot or update period promises. I will not respond to begging, but if you have questions, feel free to ask them. 
> 
> That being said, I do hope to hear from you if you like/enjoy the story. Constructive criticism is welcomed openly. This has been past my eyes twice and my lovely beta/wife erinmar13's eyes once. If you catch any huge errors, please let me know. Chapters titles will be song titles from pieces that I feel fit the mood of each chapter. Writing sound list available upon request. 
> 
> I have tried to be as accurate to the lore of the games as possible. However, my primary source is the wiki, so take that for what it's worth. If you would care to volunteer for research bunnyship, holler at me. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Her fingers drummed idly on the table, but the burn of her hazel eyes belied her indifference. A hunter’s eyes, focused on her target across the room. Going on about…tradition, ritual, any number of useless fucking things that didn’t matter. Not to Hollen Adaar, not right now. Fingers not bothered with rhythm instead clenched the blunted edge of her helm harder than necessary to press it to the hip where it rested.

Adaar didn’t need to be here. Not really, in her opinion. She could have sent Dorian in her stead—he lived for the façade of politics. Or, even better, Varric. The fire elicited from the Divine-Elect would surely be a sight then. The Inquisitor sneered, revealing a sharp eye-tooth as her tongue tested its edge. Yes, Cassandra’s fire was one of the things Hollen longed for these days. Anger spurred by injustice, frustration reaped from stubbornness, lust flamed by battle—

Blood welled from the line etched in the muscle. Her nostrils flared at the prick, her eyes brightening. She really should have been focused on Cassandra’s words, she knew. But they could only serve to fuel Adaar’s wrath if she did. Cassandra insisted on pushing forward with her appointment to succeed the seat of the Divine. The meeting today was nothing more than politicking over timelines; how soon should she take the Sunburst Throne? Should old rites be maintained, or ought new practise take hold? Many believed the vacancy had lasted too long, and the ordination should progress posthaste.

Too long has the flock been without a shepherd, argued one cleric, surely the proceedings would advance immediately?

Nay, cried the steadfast traditionalists, all proper rites ought to be observed! The right words sung, and on, all to assure the place of the Most Holy.

Hollen could not say with which she agreed. She was too personally afflicted, too torn to be fair. What she did know was her erstwhile lover’s view, which the former Seeker was now devotedly defending before the council. A low rumble pushed up through Adaar’s chest, unbidden. Either way, Cassandra was lost to her. The growl threatened to spill from her lips, and she could take no more.

Not today, not any day.

She pushed herself from the table, her drumming fingers now etching the edge of the wood. Cassandra was shocked to silence by the screech of wood on tile, her focus stolen by Hollen, eyes ablaze and thrusting her helmet under her arm as she rose to her feet.

“We are not adjourned, Inquisitor,” the Divine-Elect warned. Adaar glared, challenging. Her mouth fell just open, words ready to tumble forth. But she couldn’t look at Cassandra in the robes of the Most Holy Elect. Couldn’t listen to those useless words uttered. So she turned on heel as her mouth snapped shut, and left.

 

Just as her lover left her.

 

xxXxx

 

 

 

**_Nearly Two Years Ago_ **

She swings mightily at the pell, her blow soaking into the heavy wood figure. The Seeker huffs, tired yet determined to finish her forms for the day. Re-centering, she draws a steady breath, feigning a strike from her sturdy foe before sliding smoothly into blocking form. She flows through her practice for half an hour before she notices the Herald Adaar seated, leaning against a tent post, horns pressed precariously into the canvas behind her as she watches.

The Qunari has a few sheets of paper-on-board in her lap, a slim piece of coal poised and ready to mark. Cassandra finds herself vexed by her presence, perplexed by the quirk of her lips in what must be a smile.

“Can I help you, Herald?” Adaar smiles fully, tilting forward as she draws on her paper. She scribbles for a few moments, periodically glancing up at her subject with a gleam in her honeyed-green eyes. The Seeker frowns, peering over at the paper from where she stands. But the Herald shifts the paper from her gaze, tutting and shaking her head. She declines to answer Cassandra’s query, so the Seeker resumes her forms and the Herald her sketching. A few moments more pass when Adaar finally speaks.

“You know, Cassandra, just because we got back earlier than expected doesn’t mean you have to go through your paces today. That skirmish in the pass hasn’t kept your blood up?”

This earns her a grunt, but no more. “Come now, Cassandra, surely you’d rather be resting.”

She does stop this time, her sword-tip resting on a patch of exposed dirt at her foot. Her jaw clenches as though she’s chewing her answer before giving it. Adaar is enthralled.

“It is about more than what I want, Herald.” She scrubs the sweat from her brow with her free arm, trying to hide her befuddlement at the adoration plain on the Herald’s face. “I am, however, finished for now. I don’t supposed I could see your drawing?”

Adaar shrugs, sheepish but willingly passing the top sheet forward. Cassandra takes it, eyes locked on the Herald, who refuses to meet her gaze. When Cassandra looks down, she snorts and sighs, exasperated, before shoving the paper back to the Qunari and storming off to the warmth of Haven.

Hollen watches her leave, a slow grin spreading across her face at Cassandra’s retreat. She looks down at the now crinkled paper, where moments before she had quickly scrawled a crude figure with a sword at a pell. A chuckle escapes as she remembers Cassandra’s face. Carefully, she places the childish drawing to the back of the paper stack, slipping the blank page behind it over, revealing her true work. It is the Seeker’s face, every scar and detail rendered in perfection as she scowls at an invisible combatant.

The Herald’s smile is broken now—she re-covers the art and rises to her feet, brushing the snow and dust from her rear before making her way back to the comfort of her cabin.

 

xxXxx

 

 

 

 

“Lady Cassandra.”

She heard him. But she was fixed instead on the door, where only moments before, Hollen had stormed off in a fit of pique. Heart in her throat, she could only swallow her words back down, and even at that she was failing.

Stubborn, she is always so stubborn… Her breath left her in a huff. It wasn’t fair to say such things. Not when she herself was known for them.

“Divine-Elect?”

“Where has the Inquisitor gone, my Lady?” asked another voice.

Cassandra’s jaw tightened as if struck. They didn’t’ know anything of the…nature of her ties with Hollen. It—it should remain so.

“For air, I imagine,” she manages at last, “she has never liked small spaces.” There was smattered mumbling at this.

“-not due to break for a candlemark-“

“-seemed rather put-out-“

“-will this mean for the Divine-Elect—“

Cassandra shuts them out, drawing herself together. She shifts to rest in her high-backed chair at the middle of the table, only just avoiding a collapse. That would assuredly set them into a frenzy.

She could not allow her personal feelings to interfere. All of the Faithful looked to her now; she would not falter in the path set for her by the Maker. Schooling her features, she rose once more and a hush fell over the assembly.

“We will break for the day, and reconvene at first light tomorrow.” An indignant swell rose around the table. Cassandra closed her eyes to summon her patience. “I will speak with Inquisitor Adaar in the meantime. You are dismissed.” She pushed back from the table and made for the door. As she reached for the knob, a hand reached for her shoulder and pulled her back. Cassandra’s first instinct was to reach for the sword she no longer bore—quickly she marshaled herself, turning to speak with the interloper. She was faced by a woman of serene, yet knowing look; by her robes, Cassandra knew her for a Grand Cleric.

“Most Holy—“ she began.

“Not yet, Your Grace,” Cassandra said quietly, under the hubbub. The cleric smiled forgivingly.

“At any rate, Most Holy to be. And should be, were it not for your request to hold this Grand Council. Your election is nearing a month past, Lady Cassandra, if I may call you such. The faithful long to reach out to their new Divine, and never before have they been made to wait so. I fear the threats to Most Holy’s legitimacy if this hold up should continue.” Her eyes, at least, were sincere Cassandra thought. And she bore no love for these extended meetings that seemed to amble on without end. The bluster in the room was dying down, she would need to make her exit soon, lest she be besieged by clerics with too many questions.

“You are right, Grand Cleric—“

“Mathilde.”

“Yes, thank you. At any rate, you are right. I—“ she looked away briefly—“ I will announce the procession in tomorrow’s council. The ordination should not be delayed any further. Now, if that is all, I wish to take my leave.” Grand Cleric Mathilde nodded, respectfully stepping back with a murmured appellation.

Cassandra pushed through the doors, leaving the dimming clamor behind her. She would speak with Adaar, of that much she was certain.

How the Inquisitor would take it, she knew not.

 

xxXxx

 

 

 

 

Perhaps she was overreacting.

Hollen grit her teeth at the thought. She was acting the part of the feckless child, a simple wench who made the simpler mistake of falling in love with a woman beyond her reach.

She leaned back into the rampart, horns catching before her hair could kiss the stone. Thoughts leaked from her as she emptied her mind, until she saw nothing but the vista beyond Skyhold. The crisp mountain air soothed the ache she held until it too began to trickle away. She must let it go if she was to lead this Inquisition—if Cassandra was so bent on her new role.

 _You must let heartache strengthen you, little one,_ she could still hear her Papa say, _lest it harden and break you._

It was easy, recalling the fond hair-ruffle that followed his speech. A warmer time had she spent on her parent’s farm, when she had nothing to worry her more than wolves after livestock. What wouldn’t she give to be back there? Less killing, to be sure. Fewer demands on her time. No Cassandra, offering her the world then ripping it away due to some false sense of— No, she thought, her pride and duty are very real.

Real enough to drop you like hot stones, another voice argued. Hollen grimaced, dropping her head with a shake. She didn’t’ want this seeping rage that threatened. Certainly didn’t want that delicious spike of hatred that loomed behind it.

Of course, it was at this very moment that the Divine-Elect chose to grace Adaar with her presence.

Adaar refused to grant her so much as a glance, but traitorous eyes, too well trained to seek an impending attack, trailed the motion of her legs as she came forward. The Qunari turned her head away with some difficulty. Her heart would defy her if she looked too long. And yet…

A pair of white-booted feet came to a stutter-stop beside her. Hollen swallowed.

“Most Holy,” she said, her head bobbing in deference. Cassandra seemed to choke at that, her lips parting with a shaky breath.

“Inquisitor…Adaar…” Her hand reached for Adaar’s shoulder, shaking slightly. The motion was too quick to avoid as the Qunari snatched the offending appendage in a firm grip. Her eyes caught Cassandra’s briefly, a universe entangled between them. A torrent of precious memory flooded Hollen in that instant. She could sob, fly into her lover’s arms and beg. Cry and swear every oath, promising every feat, answer every question of loyalty, anything. Anything to press her close. Anything to feel Cassandra’s heart against her own—she released the hand and re-focused on the mountains beyond before she did something egregious. A thing like focusing on how Cassandra’s breath hitched at Hollen’s touch.

“Careful, Most Holy. Wouldn’t want the faithful to see you improprietous.” The Divine-Elect flinched at that. Adaar ignored the swipe of Cassandra’s tongue as it moistened her lips.

“Surely there’s nothing unseemly in comforting a friend,” she offered.

The bottom fell out of Hollen’s chest. She should be screaming, voicing her rage for the world. But her screams were lost behind the laughter that bubbled up. Deep, rich, maddening tones that Cassandra used to love. Adaar crossed to the outer wall of the rampart, leaning on her elbows as a wry smile replaced the subsiding laughter.

“A friend. Indeed” Would that she could be swallowed by the earth than ever hear Cassandra deny what they had. She turned her back to the mountains, arms akimbo, as she glared holes into the Divine-Elect.

“By the Gods, Seeker, if this is how you treat your friends, I should hate to see what your lovers earn.”

“Hollen, please don’t—“

“You don’t have the right to address me thusly, Seeker,” Adaar spat. The Nevarran looked everywhere but Adaar’s face, the weight of her choices a load too heavy to bear. She tried to step closer, reaching for Hollen again. “Do not,” the Inquisitor growled, “I will not be responsible for what happens if you do. You made your choice, Cassandra.”

Adaar stood quickly, taking up her helm and replacing it upon her head.

“Most Holy,” she said with a salute. Adaar stormed back into the halls of Skyhold, willing her strength to hold until she was out of sight. She didn’t hear her beloved sob as she slammed her knuckles into the stone of the rampart.

No. Surely her father had never felt the heartache he warned her against. He would not have lived to tell of it. 


	2. Hold Me Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeey so it's almost been a year. I am dreadfully sorry about that. Thank you for continuing to read! Hopefully the next chapter doesn't take as long. That being said, here it is, and enjoy!
> 
> Edited by the lovely erinmar13.

Leliana had already poured two glasses of Antivan brandy when her friend, the Seeker, arrived at the rookery. _Or rather_ , she reminded herself, _Divine-Elect Victoria_. _Lady’s Breath, that would take some getting used to_. Cassandra stopped short at the glasses, suddenly fraught with awareness.

               “Leliana, I’m sorry to have barged in, clearly you were expecting—“

               “Oh Cassandra, do shut up,” the bard interrupted, thrusting a glass to her friend. “It is for you, silly woman. I heard about the council meeting.”

Cassandra took the glass without further urging, gingerly fingering the rim as she contemplated its contents. Leliana settled back into her chair, sipping from her own glass as she waited for whatever the erstwhile warrior would reveal. When Cassandra caught her eyes, Leliana simply gestured to the chair across from her, into which the tall woman gratefully sank.

              “The new robes are a bit tight, no?”

Cassandra choked out a humorless laugh before tossing her drink back. Her jaw tightened at the flavor, and further at the memory of her morning. She wanted nothing more than to spill her guts to the Nightingale—if she couldn’t bleed her heart to her closest friend, who could she dream of telling? Tears rose unbidden, threatening to spill into her eyes; she sank further into her seat, pressed down by the weight of it all. She thought she could do this. Years of devotion and self-denial had surely prepared her. Her head fell to rest against the back of the chair.

              “I am defeated, Leliana.”

Leliana looked her over, from the wide spread of her feet to the loll of her head. Cassandra was certainly not prone to drama. The depth of the hurt drifting from her attested to the truth of the matter. The Nightingale had never seen her friend so broken. She winced in sympathy, downing her drink and reaching for the decanter. As she poured, Leliana considered how the issue should be approached. Too delicate for humour, too sensitive for chastisement. Glasses appropriately filled, she sat back again, sipping.

             “Talk to me, Cassandra. Surely it is not so awful as that?”

A sound like choking came from the Divine-Elect, who elevated her head enough to glance balefully at the brandy before fixing Leliana with her gaze. “Is it not awful to sacrifice what is meant to be for what must be?” She sat up suddenly, snatching up her fresh glass and tossing back the drink. “Duty has been my life, my raison d’etre. My everything. I was…happy with that, had made peace with the nature of my position.”

Her head pitched into her hands, long fingers gripped at short locks. “It should not pain me to sacrifice for what _must_ be done,” she looked up at Leliana, “It shouldn’t kill me to set one woman aside for the sake of a people.”

Leliana sat back into her chair, considering the ache in Cassandra’s eyes. She shook her head softly.

              “Ma chere, why do you think that you must choose between the two?”

Cassandra scoffed.

              “It is a celibate role, Leliana. You know this.” The Nightingale considered this as she leaned forward to refill their glasses.

              “That has not stopped others, Cassanadra.” She arched an eyebrow. “You know this.” A slight pink rose in Cassandra’s cheek, though how much was related to her friend’s chagrin and not the brandy, Leliana could not say.

              “Of course,” Cassandra said, “it is no great secret. But that doesn’t make it any less wrong. I—” She took a moment to consider.

              “I could not despoil the mantle in such a way.”

Leliana smiled wryly as she watched ideas tumble about Cassandra’s head. Perhaps, if her friend would consider…

              “Well you know, Cassandra, the rules could always be changed.”

Cassandra scoffed at that, finishing her glass with a gulp. “You are deep in your cups, Leliana.” The Nightingale shrugged, considering the decanter before reaching for it.

              “I could be deeper, ma chere.” Cassandra laughed at that.

              “Couldn’t we all?”

 

 

xxXxx

 

 

Hollen had stormed off to her quarters, eager to be rid of the ceremonial armor that Josie had insisted she wear. Once comfortable, she took her cloak and headed off to the stable, stopping only once at the kitchens on her way. She went to the stall of her favorite mare, Rua—an Orlesian charger with a coat of spun silver.

She watched as her horse carefully lipped an offering of sugar cubes from her palm. The charger pressed her velvety nose into her rider’s palm when her snack was done, and Hollen obliged her with a gentle scratch of the nose. The day had grown short. A final, formal dinner was expected to be shared by all in attendance this evening, and tomorrow the Holy Party would ride for Val Royeaux and the ordination of the new Divine. The Qunari woman glared at Skyhold Keep, then glanced at the sun before turning back to the horse. She had plenty of time to ride to the village at the foot of the mountain before the darkness made the paths too treacherous. She certainly would not sit through this farce of a celebration, nor take yet another meal alone in her rooms. She sighed heavily, leaning into her mare’s shoulder.

She always came here, to the horses, to think.  Stables were warm, comfortable, familiar, and horses were strong, silent confidants who would not tear her heart apart.

              “You wouldn’t betray me, eh Rua?” Her mare whickered softly, as if to confirm the statement. “Not as long as I keep with the sugar cubes, yeah?” A knock to the chest was her answer. Hollen chuckled to herself. A plain yes if she ever heard one.

Her mind made up, Hollen retrieved her tack, calling sweetly to the mare. Once properly kitted, she urged Rua forward to the gate and down the long bridge to the mountains. Her respite surely would lay in the village below.

xxXxx

Adaar made as subtle an entrance as a Qunari could into the little hamlet’s tavern, stumping in on the heels of a few burly Inquisition soldiers. Though a Qunari presence was more acceptable throughout the continent these days, the sheer size of her kind made Adaar noteworthy in any surrounding. Most here, she noted through smoky firelight, were too deep in cup, conversation, or bosom to care if she had two horns or three, much less how tall she was. She sank into an empty chair by the fire, exhausted.

The past week had been a great blazing whirlwind of hell. How had any of this happened? It was not so long ago that she and her companions had celebrated their victory over Corypheus, and those glorious, brief days afterward Hollen floated on a cloud. The greatest threat was ended, and she had a family again. Best of all, she had Cassandra at her side for all of it. Forever, she had dared hope.

Hollen shook her head, dashing the thought away. She brought herself back to the tavern, concerned now with drowning herself in as much ale as the house could provide. Signaling the barmaid, she sat up to run her palms over her face, pressing on her eyes to keep the tears at bay. Hellen Darvish, the farm girl, had not been a crier and neither was Hollen Adaar, the Inquisitor.

The barwoman set a mug on the table beside Adaar, attempting to charm the Inquisitor with an indulgent smile. Hollen merely inclined her head before drinking deeply, consuming the draught before the woman could turn back to the counter. Wordlessly, Adaar passed her the mug.

              “Another then, miss?” Adaar grinned, and the woman was off with a blush. Charisma had ever come easy to the Inquisitor. Her father, Robb, liked to jest that she had inherited the Darvish glamour from him. _Regular chip off the old block, eh lass?_ He’d say with a fond tousle of her hair _, Have all the lads and lasses fall at your feet._

As a mercenary she didn’t typically have to bother with diplomacy. Her spear and axe did that well enough for her. The time between battles were when her skills were put to use in taverns or street-side markets. The only person who had ever rebuffed her was the Seeker, in part due to the means by which they’d met, in part due to Adaar’s sex.

 _Stop this,_ she told herself abruptly. _You are here to put her from your mind, not reminisce!_ Her scowl fell away with the barmaid’s return. Adaar bit her lip, running her tongue ever-so-slightly along it as she smiled at the other woman. _Yes. I know just how to handle that._

xxXxx

                                                                                                            

 

 

Cassandra leaned heavily onto her elbows as she gazed out at the expanse of the Frostbacks. The cold was bitter—biting at her fingers, her toes, her lungs. _A fine companion for this day._

Only a handful of moments ago she had listened as the din of the Inquisitor charging off had faded into the mountains. She was so…so pigheaded, that woman! Cassandra grit her teeth against the swell in her throat. The crisp air was helping to clear the fog the brandy had lain over her eyes.

She had escaped here to the outer wall some time ago, excusing herself from Leliana’s company by claiming it was time to retire to her own quarters for the evening. Why she bothered to lie to the Nightingale was beyond her, but Leliana had merely nodded knowingly, bidding her a good night. Many hours had the two friends sat together, whiling away the afternoon with companionable silence occasionally broken by conversation on various topics unrelated to Cassandra’s current disaster of a life. Despite her profession as a spy-master, Leliana would never betray Cassandra’s trust. The Nightingale was, Cassandra supposed, her own Left Hand, though for how long, the Divine-Elect could not say.

Her brow kissed the chilled capstone and she rolled her head to and fro, her worry over the days to come increasing by the moment. Life as a Seeker, Right Hand of Justinia, had never been any semblance of simplicity, but now a world of people looked to her to guide them—it made her heart tremble. She could not afford to delay her ordination any longer. The clergy were restless; whispers of her aptitude had found her even here, in Skyhold. That her heart was not in the role. That she sought only the power of the Divine. That her lover, the Inquisitor, had “cleared the way” for Cassandra’s ascendance to the Sunburst Throne.

It was not true—none of it ever was. But this waiting could only spur the rumors further. How could she continue to put Hollen above the Maker’s call?

 _It is what you are made for,_ a voice whispered. Was she not also made for Hollen? The Qunari woman challenged her in many ways, no doubt. Doubtless too was the Inquisitor’s affection and passion, the rightness of their connection, the peace she felt in Hollen’s arms. No mere tryst was worth the effort Hollen put into her courtship— _Stop that_. _You mustn’t think of it. It’s...over._  

 _It need not be,_ said a voice reminiscent of Leliana. The Left Hand had long been a proponent of greater freedoms in the Chantry. Her suggestion in their earlier conversation had been lingering in Cassandra’s thoughts since then. By the Maker, how could she go against tradition in such a fashion? An openly romantically entangled Divine? And with a Qunari no less? Of course it would not matter to anyone that Hollen was not of the Qun. People were foolish enough not to look beyond her glorious, glossy horns to see the woman behind them. _Oh, Hollen, I could use your reassurance now, more than ever._

A sob threatened to shudder through her teeth. How did the Maker trust her to lead His people when she could not lead her own heart? Cassandra shook her head, eager to be rid of these traitorous thoughts and memories.

              “Crisp evening for a walk, Your Holiness.” She swallowed a hiccup of surprise, wiping stubborn tears from the corner of her eyes.

              “Commander Cullen,” she said, turning to face him, “What brings you to the wall this _fine_ evening?”

He chuckled warmly at that, coming forward to stand beside her and gaze down at the distant village. “Just the air. Perhaps the consolation of a friend.” He spared her a sidelong glance.

              “You know,” he began, scrubbing at his jaw, “I find that the longer I stare down at the valley, the stronger my urge to leap grows.” She turned to look again at his torch-lit form. He merely stood quietly beside her, smiling softly down at the village below. She sniffed and drew herself upright, more soldierly than holy, and returned Cullen’s friendly mien. The light from the braziers caught the angles of her face, deepening tired eyes and adding years she had yet to live to her face. Cullen made no move to bridge the gap between them. Rather, he twisted to lean against the stone wall, waiting. The Divine-Elect stood holding herself for what felt like hours, gentle winds tousling her short locks while she worried the corner of her lip.

              “I—” She stopped, hesitant. “I suppose you are somewhat aware of earlier events.” He nodded slowly, seemingly without judgement. He stepped closer, laying a hand on her shoulder, then offered his arm, as a gentleman would. 

              “Shall we walk, Most Holy?” That earned him a genuine, if small, smile. “I have not yet been ordained, ser,” she said, taking his arm, “but I always have time to walk with a friend.”

They ambled steadily along the wall, silent at first. It was Cullen who breached the quiet as they neared the gates of Skyhold.

              “It’s never easy, is it?” She glanced at him, puzzled. “Being the person you’re expected to be, I mean.” Cassandra seemed to chew on the notion, nodding. “Duty has a way of hollowing us out,” he continued, “In many ways, it serves, and yet—” He stopped, setting his hand on her shoulder as he had done earlier. “It has many ways to take from us as well.” His smile was regretful now, the pain in his eyes at odds with the curve of his lip. Cassandra sighed heavily, turning toward the outer edge of the wall and taking comfort in the cold of the stones.

              “I don’t suppose you’ve been speaking to Leliana?” From this particular stretch of the wall, the village below was hidden from sight. _All the better,_ she thought. Cullen came up beside her, looking out onto the snowy void with her. “I don’t need to speak to the left hand to know the Right, Cassandra.”

Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “I do not know any other way to be, Cullen.”

He gingerly pressed his hand to the middle of her back, smiling dolefully still. “That’s easy, Cassandra. Be who you are with her. Happy, warm, open. You will be Divine. The people trust you, they will trust any change you make, especially one so simple.”

A panic was growing in her chest, making her heart squeeze. She did not feel as strong as people thought her to be. Before she realized what was happening, her feet were carrying her back to the keep at speed. She ignored the calls of the Commander behind her. What could he know of what she suffered?

             “Cassandra don’t be a fool! Don’t let your pride ruin you!”

The Divine-Elect pressed on into the warmth of the keep, alone.

 

 

xxXxx

 

 

 

_A week after the discovery of Skyhold_

The Inquisitor was in rare form today. Her body seethed with each breath, made ever-more prominent by the way her hands gripped the practice spear resting on her shoulders and behind her neck. Adaar’s hair was askew, her grey skin a mess of sweat and dirt. Cassandra had never seen someone so magnificent.

Adaar was a wild beast unleashed in the sparring ring. Wave after wave of Inquisition troops had engaged her to test their mettle, at first singly, then in groups. These first contestants, warriors with egos bigger than their shields, she schooled in the way a cat would toy with a mouse. Hunting and leading them around the ring, feeding their pride before smashing them with quick thrusts and sweeps of the spear. They learned quickly that this newly-minted leader of their forces was much faster than her size suggested. It was when they teamed up against her that her true skill showed out. Before it was a game, playing with children pretending to be fighters. At last Adaar began to be challenged, and here it was that she could teach those in her command who were willing.

She tilted and whirled, blocking with the butt of her spear the blow that would hamstring her. These combatants she let off easily; all were able to walk from the ring of their own accord when the fighting was done. At last she stood alone in the ring, glistening like silver in the evening sun, ready for more comers. It was this scene that had Cassandra captured as she tried to make her way to the keep to speak with Leliana. The Seeker had fought at Adaar’s side plenty of times, certainly; the Herald had, however, been armored and clothed, not clad in a sleeveless low-necked tunic and...breeches.

The Nevarran swallowed the lump in her throat. Despite the violent screaming in her head to look away from this indecency she found herself fixed in place. Something had changed about Adaar—perhaps her hair? Were her horns a glossier black? Her bright eyes had not yet spied Cassandra lingering like a fool, so she pulled herself from her stupor and set her feet back to her intended path. She was almost to the steps when a voice halted her once more. _Maker take me._

She turned to see the Inquisitor, breath finally evened, gazing steadily at her.

              “Yes, my lady,” Cassandra husked. Adaar grinned, swinging her spear from her shoulders to rest the end on the ground. One hand free, she bowed deeply, gesturing broadly toward the ring.

              “Might I ask the Lady Seeker to dance?” 

 

*

 

Though Hollen’s lungs were well-open from fighting, she felt a tug as her chest tightened. The Qunari had suspected that the Seeker had seen at least part of her fights. She had been, perhaps, a touch showy on some of those last takedowns.

               “I—I am ill-prepared for dancing, Lady Inquisitor.” Hollen had suspected that might be her answer. She would not push.

              “As you wish, Seeker,” she said with a nod.

Just then a boisterous laugh boomed from the Herald’s Rest. “Inquisitor! Holding dancing lessons without me?” Adaar grinned as she turned to face Bull’s approach.

              “Never, my friend! But I fear the steps may be too complex for your particular...talents.”

              “Ha! I invented those moves!” The ground trembled as Bull ran up to the ring, eager to display his prowess.

Cassandra peeled her eyes from the Inquisitor’s broad shoulders as the woman took off to meet her opponent. She was verily late to her intended destination.

 

xxXxx

 

 

It was but an hour before noon when the Inquisitor rode up to the gates of Skyhold the next morning. She was met at the stable door by an irate Josephine Montilyet who closed on her like a cat on a mouse.

              “Lady Inquisitor!” Hollen strove to blink away the headache exacerbated by her friend’s elevated volume. Everything was far too bright and much too loud for her tender brain just then.

              “What? What is it Josie?” She stared at the seneschal, her eyes narrowed against the sun.

              “What is it? What is it!? Why, it is only your life and the respect of your followers, slowly circling a drain!” The Antivan’s eyes darted nervously to see if anyone had noticed her outburst before grabbing Adaar’s elbow and steering her into a lower, more discreet entrance to the keep. The dim lighting of the hall was much more accommodating to the Inquisitor’s eyes, but the haranguing by Josie only worsened.

              “Do you know what you have missed today, Hollen?”

              “I imagine you’ll apprise me,” Adaar mumbled. Without warning Josephine reached up and slapped the taller woman with as much force as she could muster. Hollen glared down at her, rubbing her cheek.

              “How do you think it looks when all the Inquisition is presented to see the Most Holy Elect off, but the Lady Inquisitor herself cannot be bothered to be present?”

              “You would dare strike me for some inconsequential slight?”

              “It is _not_ inconsequential! Right now a debate rages among chantry leadership and throughout Orlais regarding the existence of the Inquisition itself. We must be beyond reproach in _every_ way!” Hollen grit her teeth, turning from Josie to stare at the door. “The slap,” Josie continued, “was for the way you hurt Cassandra.”

The Inquisitor’s fist shot out, driving into the wood before her. A sizeable dent marred with blood was left behind when she turned back to Josephine. Her lip trembled as she spoke.

              “And what of _my_ hurts, Josie?” She stepped closer with each word, coming to stand but a breath away from the Antivan.  “What of broken oaths, of lies to make me dream of a shared future? Would you raise a hand to the Most Holy and demand retribution for all the ills she visited on her lover,” Adaar growled. The formerly righteous woman would not cow, but the Qunari before her could smell the fear and shame rolling off her in waves.

              “Perhaps,” the smaller woman uttered, “I have been hasty with both my actions and words.” Adaar backed up a step. “But my point regarding the Inquisition stands. It is on your shoulders to make this right.”

With that, she slipped off down the hall into the greater keep. Hollen leaned into the wall, her hands bracing her up. She stared at her mangled knuckles, lost in the dribbles of blood along the grooves of her skin. Though she wished otherwise, Josie was right. She had to put on a brave face for the people she represented, if nothing else. The Inquisitor sighed heavily, clenching her marred hand into a fist. If she left in short order, she should be able to catch the train of Chantry carriages before nightfall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, whatcha think? Worth the wait?


End file.
